A shudder runs up Alain's spine, and he makes no attempt to disguise it. It isn't the sight of the tree-man, although that's horrible enough in itself. It's the fact that Tom's smile so perfectly fits the shape of his mind, all thorns and inhuman tangles bound together by the shreds of humanity. He looks, feels, like something from a nightmare, and Alain can't help the instinctive horror that runs right through him.

His own beacon flickers, dimming a little as he subconsciously pulls his Touch away from that mind. If I had fire... he thinks, struggling to regain some balance, if I had my gun, some kind of charge to lay, I could at least take the bastard with me.

And if dreams were dollars, I'd never have empty pockets. That last bit comes in Cort's voice, mocking and harsh. Alain grits his teeth, ignores the agony in his leg, and slashes at the vines with all his strength.